Fighting Dirty
by Darknightdestiny
Summary: Veld tries to teach Vincent a lesson, and it backfires horribly. So horribly, in fact, that Veld finds himself thinking he's got something to prove—or disprove.


**Fighting Dirty**

Rachel "D" Winslow

"Hey, kid." Gods, that voice was annoying. Gruff, and gurgling and demanding. "You gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna come in?"

Vincent all but ignored the large, sweaty man at the front of the building and continued idly flicking his lighter. It occurred to him then, that Veld was in the habit of calling him kid all the time. Funny how he never really noticed that, or minded it, now that he thought about it. Maybe because it felt like comraderie with him, and not like an insult.

'Rookie,' was a different story. But he hadn't called him that in a week. Maybe he should give the guy a break.

"You hard of hearin', boy?"

Vincent didn't much like waiting around, especially in places like these. He didn't know his way around, his partner was nowhere to be seen, and he didn't have much authority in these matters. One false move could cause trouble for the both of them.

"You fuckin'-"

"Rookie."

Vincent glanced over his shoulder to see Veld poking his head through the entrance, motioning to him. He brushed past the irritated hench at his post, mouth twitching as he offered his soft and smug, "Excuse me."

"They're ready for us," Veld said. Then he nodded to the confused and upset gargantuan. "Take it easy, Charlie."

That bastard had called him a rookie again. "I'm tired of doing fucking errands."

"This is not an errand," Veld said. "This is important." He grabbed Vincent by the arm. "Stop for a second."

Vincent stood in the hallway with Veld, just outside the lounge. Ah. So it was time for the briefing, again. Honestly, he didn't think it was necessary. He wasn't some child, and he did know something about tact. Why Veld always approached him before a job like he had no common sense, Vincent didn't understand.

"When we're in there, you follow my lead. Let me do the talking. And if I tell you to sample something, you do it."

Vincent blinked. "You're fucking kidding me." It was then that Vincent also noticed he'd been saying that a lot lately.

"I mean it," Veld said. "And fix your fucking tie."

He raised an eyebrow at the hand that unwittingly reached out and straightened his tie. "I think I can manage that, at least," he grinned.

Veld paused, as if he'd been unaware of what he'd been doing. And then recovered. "No being a smart-ass," he threatened, pointing his finger at Vincent. "Or you'll be sorry."

"Will I, now?"

One of the things Vincent had come to appreciate about his partner was that his bark was worse than his bite, where the people closest to him were concerned. And it turned out that Veld didn't keep many people close; Vincent was just the sort that grew on people like that, begrudgingly or not. He had a way of getting under one's skin.

Frankly, Veld just didn't intimidate him anymore. Even less so when he had brain-matter dangling from his chin. That had made for a very amusing scene, Vincent noted. Sure, Veld was a force to be reckoned with, but no matter how loud he spluttered or how forcefully he waved his arms, Vincent just never felt like he was on the receiving end. No, Veld was hardly a threat to him.

And it had only been a few months. Considering the reactions his slight superior got from _other_ people, Vincent figured he was doing quite well.

"_Yeah_ you will."

Huh. He hadn't elaborated on _how_ he would make him sorry that time. Maybe he was beginning to realize that it had no effect on him. He followed on the heel of Veld's brusque turn then, and they entered the lounge.

Ariel Feguera was the top drug pusher in the eastern hemisphere. He had a hand in everything, from blow to heroine. He'd sell a man spores that had been grown next to a mako fountain. And he was at the top of the chain.

But he had some competition. Non-threatening, of course, to a man of his... influence, but it didn't hurt to have help. Hence, their meeting with he and his Kalm distributor, Geno Gallo.

"So," Feguera said, as the men took their seats. "Geno say to me... you make competition go away."

Gallo would think he knew what he was talking about; he was the closest major dealer to the inner city. Midgar was full of small-time crooks, but the Turks ran the show. No one else did big business in Midgar but they.

"Yeah, I think we can manage that," Veld said with narrowed eyes, one side of his mouth tilted up.

"Now, I don't want you to... destroy product," said Feguera. "That help me, if you are looking for cut."

"Oh," Veld said. "It's a one-time fee."

Feguera frowned. "You are offering... your support... for what favor?"

Ariel's Midgirian was broken, but he understood the question. "For the sum we discussed," he said, "we'll make the Wutaian drug cartel disappear."

"But for how long?" Geno asked.

Veld's smile grew. "Men," he said. "We'll _make them disappear_."

Vincent wanted to ask why the hell Veld didn't use this to keep the men under his thumb, rather than calling it a one-time thing, but he supposed it was too late for that. And then he remembered that Veld didn't like dealing with people, especially the type of people who would hold you to things and make trouble.

Feguera looked happy. "That is good. Very good. Armando!" He gestured to the man hanging around in the back of the room. "A round of drinks, for our new friends!"

Shit.

¤

"I can't believe you would have made me your guinea pig." It was said with a small measure of disbelief, as if he was shocked that Veld would even joke about something like that. Because he had to be joking. Veld wouldn't do that to him.

Veld's answer was as if he'd been reading his mind. "Why not?"

"What if they'd tried to give me something lethal?" Vincent asked, ducking into the passenger's seat.

"They wouldn't have."

"Oh, well that's a relief." Vincent rolled his eyes.

Veld slid into the driver's side and adjusted the rearview mirror while he checked his tie in the sideview. "People are afraid of us, Valentine."

"I know," he said. "Why didn't you use your position as leverage?"

Veld didn't have to ask what he was talking about. "Because I'm not greedy," he said. "And they're more trouble than they're worth. Besides," he said, unable to help the twitch at the corner of his lip, "Wutai is already a target, and those two won't be around for much longer, anyway."

Vincent narrowed his eyes at Veld, and then it hit him. "There's a _schedule_?"

"Cleaning schedule. Yep."

That was morbid. But for some reason, Vincent took to the idea. "Wait a second. Is this even ShinRa business?"

There was a click as Veld fastened his seatbelt. "This time it is."

"...You make money on the side."

"Yes," he said, sighing. "We do that sort of thing." Then he glared at the road in front of him. "Or do you want to talk about that, too?"

Veld didn't look so amused anymore. That was the creepy thing about him; he was imbalanced and unpredictable. And perhaps a tad bit schizo.

"You talk too damned much. Now, buckle your seatbelt, kid."

Judging by Veld's tone, Vincent had clearly done something to annoy him. This didn't faze Vincent much at all; that smug bastard had called him a rookie again, and was still nonchalant enough about everything else going on to the point that he would sacrifice his partner to an overdose. Vincent didn't really believe this, but damned if he wasn't furious that Veld would act like it.

In the short time they'd spent together, Vincent had learned a few things about Veld; his quirks, his disposition. Namely, Veld had a thing about space. And 'thing'... might not have been a strong enough word.

Vincent looked at him as though his mind was a hundred miles away. "Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not a reason," he said, smiling in amusement as he turned to look idly out of his window and waited for Veld to start the ignition.

He didn't turn the key. Veld had a _policy_, mainly to protect his own ass from liability. Unless, of course, they were dodging bullets; in that case, there were bigger things to worry about. But this was just stupid. "Because I don't want your lanky ass sprawled out all across my leather? Buckle your seatbelt, or I'll throw you out of the car. How's that for a reason?"

"No," Vincent said, calm as ever, as if he didn't believe him. "I don't like wearing it."

This was going nowhere fast, and Veld's frustrations with the kid were getting the better of him. He didn't even care about the godsdamned belt anymore, just that Valentine was out to piss him off and undermine him every step of the way. "Just do as I asked," he shouted, "and stop being such a lousy, obnoxious fuck!"

Vincent snorted. "Don't knock it until you've tried it."

Veld might have choked on his breath, had he not been used to receiving smart-assed comments from the kid. Oh, everything was a fight with this one, almost as if Vincent was _trying_ to make him snap. And that smirk - _that godsdamned smirk_. He was going to erase that one, permanently.

It turned out that Valentine was much easier to remove when he _wasn't_ strapped in. Not unlike a cancer. And so it was that Vincent found himself face-down in the pavement on the side of the road, tires squealing as the company sedan sped away from him.

He stared after it for a short while, until it rounded a corner some several city-blocks away, thinking - no, _knowing_ - that Veld would have to come back for him. Because Veld was responsible, and Veld was impatient, and more importantly, Veld was without an excuse as to why his partner was missing. Sure, Vincent could easily find his own way back to the office, and that was probably what Veld was expecting; he'd eventually have to walk, and he'd learn his lesson.

But that wouldn't be nearly as fun. And hell if he wasn't going to make it hard on the bastard.

¤

Veld didn't spend too terribly long a time alone in the office before he realized that Vincent wasn't coming back on his own. It was only a few hours, really. Or however long he thought he could get away with, without pushing his luck. He hadn't forgotten, he was just... _stubborn_.

It was late afternoon when he finally pulled out of the garage and headed back downtown. He kept his eyes peeled for tall, lanky, suit-wearing kids on the sidewalk, but he didn't see any. He figured if there were any, they'd be easy enough to spot.

Half an hour of searching didn't turn up anything. He didn't want to think that Vincent would have gone back into the lounge, but he really hoped the kid wasn't that stupid. And Vincent had turned his phone off. Probably did that just to piss him off, Veld thought. Damned punks... everything was a _game_ to them. And he didn't like admitting that maybe trying to teach Valentine a lesson had bit him in the ass.

"Hey, buddy."

Veld turned sharply in the direction of the voice and found a shabby-looking man, probably mid-thirties, leaned up against a wreck of a car.

"You lookin' for your friend?"

Veld frowned. "What would you know about that?"

"Tall, dark hair? Got the same jacket as you."

He looked down. Oh, right. "Did you see where he went?"

"Sure," the man said, grinning. "He's in there."

He followed the direction of the man's finger, to the sign above the bar. And stared, stumped and furious, and disbelieving. "Fuck me," he muttered. But Veld was responsible, moreso than that Valentine punk ever was, so he gathered his pride, stomping his way over and trying not to make eye contact with anyone who might be watching him.

The air inside the place was cool and clean, surprisingly. Then again, it was still the afternoon. It was also less... flashy than he had expected. At first glance, it looked like a regular old bar. But there was music, faint and humming. Veld didn't much care for it. Scanning the room, his eyes found his target.

He'd been planning on walking in and out with little to no incidence. But as he eyed the crowd Valentine had gathered, he realized it wasn't going to be as easy as all that. Well, that was silly. He was a Turk, and those men were hardly threatening. So he walked over.

"So this is where you've been."

Vincent's head popped up at the sound of his voice. "Hey!" he said. "I was wondering when you'd get here. I was just tellin' these guys about you."

Veld narrowed his eyes. "I see."

"Hey, relax, man. We weren't gonna steal him or nothing."

Veld nearly choked on his spit. Oh, that wasn't it. That wasn't it at all, and he was going to kill the kid for dragging him into this and making it look like they were... were...

And the man with the soft voice was _laughing_. Just what in the hell had he said to them? Not like it wasn't bad enough that Valentine was prancing around in his uniform. But by Odin, if he'd said anything to insinuate and embarrass him, there would be hell to pay.

Oh, but Veld was only learning that when Vincent fought, he fought dirty.

"But you came for me!" Vincent launched into Veld's arms in an exaggerated display of relief, much to the older man's chagrin. "I knew you would!" he sighed, leaning against him.

A chorus of drunken laughter echoed in his ears. If Veld let go at this precise moment, Vincent would drop straight to the floor. "You're piss drunk."

"No I'm not."

He was. Veld could smell it walking up to the table. The kid's breath and body reeked of it, and his voice was a mix of high slurs and low murmurs. "Time to go now," Veld grimaced, trying to lift the boy up.

"Okay, okay," Vincent said. "Hey, Veld?"

"Yeah."

"...You're the only partner I _ever_ want."

It was very quiet, and he realized belatedly that no one had heard, save for himself. And Vincent's fingers were doing funny things with the lapel of his jacket. Veld started and stared at the kid for a long time. Finally - _finally_, after Veld felt the temperature of the room rise a full ten degrees - Vincent cracked into a snigger, and that quickly escalated into hysterics. Veld growled. "That's not funny."

"Well, I thought it was," Vincent said, pushing himself up and off the other man and straightening himself. It was jarring, how quickly he could turn it off. "You know, you really are a bastard. Fine," he said curtly. "Let's go." He waved animatedly - again, exaggeratedly - at the door.

While Veld waited for Vincent to lead the way, a man walked up to him and handed him a drink. Veld frowned.

"I didn't order this. We were just leaving."

The man nodded in the direction of the bar. Veld turned, and caught the eyes of a balding, waif-like man with a goatee. Who smiled with his crooked teeth. And waved.

He grabbed Vincent by the arm and dragged him outside.

"Gods!" Vincent hissed, when they'd made it to the car and Veld finally relinquished his hold on him. "That fucking hurts!" He jerked his arm back and glared at his partner.

Veld looked like he was about to yell at him, when the man who had handed him the drink ran out to meet them. "Hey, man," he said. "I don't mean to interrupt... whatever. But usually when people leave, they pay me."

The frown on Veld's face deepened, if it were even possible. He shot Vincent a look, and the kid shrugged. Oh, hells no. Valentine was going to get the ass-whupping of the century. "Here." Veld dug into his pockets and shoved some bills into the man's hands. "That should cover it. If it doesn't, you know where to come find me."

He did. And he wouldn't. Veld knew this.

"Let's go, kid. _Now_." Veld yanked his door open and seated himself inside, slamming it shut behind him. Vincent followed half-heartedly. "I don't care what you do on your own time," Veld growled, "but when you go and fucking pull a stunt like that-"

"That's not what I do in my off time," Vincent sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," Veld snapped. "So this is just for my benefit, is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"Maybe you shouldn't act so high and mighty."

Veld was furious. "You made me look like a-"

"Like you had something to prove?"

He stopped shouting for a moment and took in Valentine's accusing glare. "...What?"

"Please," Vincent said, his smile returning as he relaxed in his seat. "Shit, you go in there, all pissed off to begin with. You make a big deal out of how you can't possibly belong there, when all anyone has to do is look at you."

It took Veld a few seconds to process his words. Vincent was loud in the sloppy way, but he seemed not to be as intoxicated as he'd previously thought. "What the hell is that supposed to mean? If you're fishing for something-"

"_I'm_ not fishing. You're in denial. I've never seen you with a woman, ever. Or _without_ your fucking tie."

"A man who wears a uniform ought to take pride in his appearance. Besides, this isn't about me. This is about you."

"Whatever. You _ought _to just admit it."

"I ought to off you and dump your body. I'll just explain to the boss that you're not coming back, and I took care of it."

Vincent took in Veld's matter-of-fact expression, and nearly laughed. The man was too damned proud for his own good. "Like you would really get out of that."

"You think anyone would miss you?"

But maybe he'd read too much into things. Maybe Veld didn't really care, and he had his own reasons. But his actions, even if they didn't mean what Vincent was having so much fun at Veld's expense making them out to be, said that he did care. "Then why did you come after me? I was having fun, at least."

Veld frowned, starting up the car. Apparently, he wasn't going to bicker with him over the way he was sprawled this time. "I'm kind of responsible for you. Or did you forget?"

"I think you'd miss having someone to piss all over when you can't handle yourself."

A sharp intake of breath, and Vincent could read Veld's anger in his white knuckles over the gear shift. "I'd be able to handle myself a lot better if you weren't always making things hard on me."

Vincent laughed anyways, because he wasn't threatened. "I make things hard on you _because_ you can't handle yourself. You make it so easy." And entertaining, he did not add. But if ever he caught him with brain on his face again, he'd be sure to take full advantage of the opportunity to push his buttons.

"So this is funny to you?" Veld asked, speeding down the road. "You fucking like making me come all the way out here to search for you, scaring me half t-"

Veld stopped there. Suddenly, Vincent felt very satisfied with himself, not to mention more than confident enough to fill the silence that followed. "You _are_ the one who left me in the first place."

"That's because you're an asshole."

But he wasn't yelling anymore. "Fair enough," Vincent said. "But you're stuck with me, and that's not going to change, so I guess you'd better find some way of dealing with it, other than leaving me to rot."

"You've got legs," Veld said, now concentrating more on the street than on the man in the seat next to him. Vincent grinned again.

"Exactly. Maybe next time you'll remember that they have a mind of their own."

Veld snorted, and then was quiet for a minute. "...I can't believe you made me look for you in a gay bar."

"_I_ can't believe you made it look like we were an item."

"That was _your_ fault!" Veld's outburst was more incredulity than volume. "What the hell did you tell those men about me?"

By now, Vincent's face held no amount of shame - not that it had before - but was full of self-congratulatory pride. "Nothing."

Contrary to his expectations, his partner didn't push for it. "...I'm not gay."

"Fine."

"...And if I were, it wouldn't be with you," he muttered.

Vincent smiled to himself. Veld's awkward hesitation when he'd called him 'partner' hadn't gone unnoticed. "You're not my type, anyway."

The car was quiet then, and all that could be heard was the sound of the tires rolling over the street and the objects whizzing by. Veld cleared his throat. "You're...?"

"Not exactly."

"So I don't need to watch my back, then."

He laughed. Veld's sense of humor always was a bit awkward, and his attempt to lighten the mood was piss poor. "I already told you, you're not my type."

"You just _said_ you weren't..." Veld cut himself off and took a deep breath. "That's good, then."

"Yes. It is."

"...Good."

"Fine."

The rest of the ride was silent, and without interruption this time. But damned if Vincent wasn't a little bit smug and grinning inwardly the whole way back to the office.

Veld was so full of shit. And they both knew it.

**End**

_Final Fantasy VII and its characters © 1997 Square-Enix Co., Ltd._


End file.
